Hyrr and Riesen
by ymirschristas
Summary: Ymir is a fire-manipulating antihero named Hyrr who not only plays with fire, but also with the wealth of the citizens whom she "protects". However, when she meets Christa, a shapeshifter who vows to bring down Hyrr's unjust crime-fighting, she realizes she has to keep her alter ego a secret from the only person she'll ever find more important than herself.
1. ISSUE 1 - Riesen

Hyrr – the hero of the three city walls; Maria, Rose, and Sina. Hyrr – the tall, Amazonian woman clad in the ebony, tight-fitting fighting cyber suit which had been specially tailored only for her. The black covered all of her lean legs, and over her feet were garnet boots which waited to taste the fury of battle. Her arms were completely covered as well, the material glistening under the sun like shiny leather, the small hexagonal atoms in the suit glimmering. Over her hands, up to her elbows, were wine-coloured gloves which hugged her fists snugly, ready to pack a mean punch. And who could forget her trademark facewear? Her eyes were covered by triangular, scarlet glasses which glinted whenever she turned towards a light.

Yes, this was the amazing Hyrr – brave, bold, dashing and charmi-

"Hey, I ran those thieves off for you, old man. Throw the money bag here already!" hissed Hyrr as she towered over a cowering store owner.

The measly, shivering man in his early sixties adjusted the spectacles over his nose and pressed the duffel bag of money into Hyrr's stomach, his fist shaking as he forced himself to get rid of it. "H-here! Please...take it...it's all that I have! Yes, thank you, Hyrr!"

Chuckling amusedly, Hyrr wrenched the bag off his hands and gave his liver-spotted head a pat. "Thanks," she read his nametag, "Mr Johnston. Remember, this is better than all those thieves taking your precious merchandise. If they did, how could you make a living?"

She gave one last smirk before heading out the glass doors. The windchimes rang.

"C-come again," stuttered Mr Johnston, waving a weak goodbye at Hyrr's back.

He looked around at his ruined shop. Glass from the windows were strewn on the floor, items crushed on the ground, the cold fridge sections were smashed in, and bottles of water, juice and soft drinks were decimated, the liquids mixing together to form a pathetic pool on the tiled ground.

Sighing, he looked behind him. There was a gaping hole in the middle of the counter where he used to check people's items out, but surrounding the hole were charred bits of melted hard plastic. Destroyed. By fire.

Yes, this was Hyrr. The first two descriptions of her personality were true, but the third and the fourth didn't fit quite right.

Without further ado, a quick redo.

Hyrr – brave, bold, truly uncharismatic and _selfish_. The citizens she "protected" could not really talk back, or retaliate, because they knew that when they needed her the most, she'd be there to save the day, steal their money, but at least...save their lives. One could say they were living in a life of needy fear towards their own resident superhero, but it seemed to be much more than that. One supposed only another superhero that could equal her power was the only answer to a fair and just rule. But were there other heroes out there? Other heroes that are _actually _heroes? Because if one word pinpointed _this _superhero, it was _anti-hero_.

Hyrr gave a cocky grin to everyone she calmly walked past.

People gathered around ol' man Johnston's store, dropping their phone calls, some taking pictures of the dastardly scene and some calling emergency numbers like the police, the fire brigade and the paramedics. Hushed whispers overcame Hyrr as she continued down the street, as if nothing had ever happened, as if she had done nothing wrong _or _right. She could care less. Huge cash was slung over her shoulder now, all the money she could spend on rich cigs, booze and women.

"_Her _again. Always her."

"The police needs to step in."

"They can't. She can throw fireballs from her _goddamn _hands! She could destroy us all if she _wanted _to."

"We don't need a hero."

"_Um, yes, we __**do**_. Don't you remember what happened last time? With..."

"No, no, don't even mention that guy. Okay, I get it. We need Hyrr."

Hyrr stopped in her tracks, and turned to look at the trio who were huddled in a corner by the street. They all tensed up as she began staring at them intensely. One sweated nervously, and from his throat a small whine escaped.

Her goggles flashed in their faces, the setting sun's orange casting over the lenses. She gave them a few moments to pee their pants before giving a naughty smile. "That's right. You don't want the last time to happen, don't you? How this guy just comes rocking in and-"

"Stop!" The sole guy of the three shrieked. "We know. We _know_."

Lifting her chin up, she went back on her way.

This world was her oasis, and these people were the slaves feeding grapes to her. She could do _anything _she wanted, have _anything _she desired, and it would be served to her on a silver platter. It felt exhilarating to be the ruler of her world, to pull the strings how she wanted them to be pulled. She kept walking past the darkening sky; the sun colliding with the land, police sirens filling her ears in the distance. The sounds and lights of her city creeping up on her shoulders. She made a few turns, simply swaggering across streets, cars stopping before her with blasting horns and surprised yells. A few minutes later, she found herself in front of her apartment building – a high-rise type with glossy surfaces and blinking signs of life. And unsurprising as it is, she was the one who held the keys to the penthouse.

She strode in, breathing in the scent of _home sweet home_.

The guard at the reception was fast asleep when she came in, thank god, because she hated having to verify her identity everytime she came inside. Who else was she gonna be, aside from the great Hyrr? Then again, she realised, she wasn't the most peaceful type. People could suspect her all they want, she thought as she took the elevator up to the penthouse.

When the doors opened, she stepped inside. A balcony covered by huge crystalline glass doors stood across the room. The walls were black and red, smoothly painted on by painters that Hyrr didn't have to pay for. Warm sconces of light peeked from the ceiling, polishing all the objects in the room. In the centre was a long leather couch which curved sideways so all sides could face the huge flat-screen TV. To the left was a small bar, with a varnished wooden counter; wine glasses, shot glasses – all types lined the shelves behind it, as well as an assorted collection of beers, whiskeys, vodkas, scotches, absinthes, cognacs – _everything_. One could say booze was a hobby for Hyrr. To the right of the penthouse was a door leading to the master bedroom – a modern bed with sheets of black and red stripes, a globe-shaped glass lamp, a closet lined with clothes, and the panties of many different women lying around on the cream carpet.

Hyrr threw the duffel bag on the bar counter, and then began taking off her suit. First she removed the goggles, and then the gloves, the boots, and then finally, the suit. She quickly tucked them in the wine cooler behind the bar. After she snapped her neck side to side and gave a long stretch, she poured herself some whiskey and then plopped on the couch.

Since the suit was tight-fitting, there wasn't any room to put clothes inside, except panties. So those were the only things she wore at the moment. That aside, she was naked from head to toe. Her hair was dark chocolate, and tied back, with many loose strands hanging at the side of her face. The fierce eyes behind the goggles were hazel, and held mischievous flight.

She turned on the TV and flicked to the news.

"...Johnston's General Store was ransacked today by two thieves today police have identified as one Sasha Blause and one Connie Springer. But their heist to steal all the food was foiled thanks to Hyrr, who came in and gave them a fiery fight. However, they got away, and Mr Johnston, owner and proprietor of the store is _blaming _Hyrr for her unnecessary heroics-"

Scoffing, she turned it off. How dare that little bastard...oh, he was so compliant in her face, but behind her back...of course. What did she expect? Who _couldn't _hate her guts? But at least no one knew. No one knew who she really was, beneath the bravado and the talk. Here, alone, she was Ymir. Not Hyrr. _Ymir._ Ymi-

Her train of thought stopped as soon as she heard a thumping above her. She wanted to ignore it – it was probably just nothing. But then again, nothing could easily get up there – she was on the top floor, and it was too high-

The sounds quickly became louder. The big, square-shaped sconce on her ceiling began to tremble. Ymir stood up, looking up, eyes squinted, waiting. Small cracks appeared on the ceiling.

"What the-"

In the flash of a second, the ceiling crashed down, accompanied with a girlish scream. Rubble bounced off Ymir, but she struggled to see or breathe through the vast amount of dust that came with the sudden fall. She looked up a split-second – the broken ceiling offered a skylight for the night sky. She groaned – she'd have to get that fixed.

Once the dust settled and she brushed off the remaining particles on her, she saw a figure emerge from the rubble. As she was about to reach out to grab it by the shoulder, it leapt at her and caught her off-guard. It pushed against her chest and threw her back against the couch, its legs around her.

Ymir took a look at who her assailant was. It was a woman too, but she was _way _smaller than Ymir. Her petite body was encased in a cerulean and frost homemade shirt, a big white letter R on her chest. Her legs were not covered completely, however. She wore a matching skirt, as well as tall, white boots and gloves. An azure mask covered her lithe, porcelain face and Ymir couldn't see her eyes behind those white disguises.

The assailant's arms completely pinned Ymir down. The taller of the two could easily pry her off, but she was insanely curious as to who this bumbling wannabe was.

A small, shrill voice escaped the girl in blue. It was...cute, Ymir thought. "H-hold fast, villain! I am Riesen, and you are-"

The girl who introduced herself as Riesen gasped as she took the time to observe Ymir's body up and down. It was only now that she realised that her target was not fully naked, but naked enough for her to blush heavily under her mask.

"You a-are...YOU'RE NAKED!" she exclaimed, quickly jumping off Ymir, taking a few steps backwards, almost tripping over the rubble.

"Well, **_you_** could be naked too," teased Ymir, smirking smugly. There was a sharp glint in her eyes.

Riesen turned a deep red, and then slapped Ymir. "Don't talk to me like that!"

The sharp sting took her by surprise. Ymir held up her hands in defeat. This girl had assertiveness, which she actually liked. "Alright, Shorty. I'm Ymir. Welcome to my penthouse." Smiling, she put her hand out.

Riesen shook her hand tentatively and quickly let go. "Don't call me Shorty either!" Then she paused for a moment. "Wait...Ymir? That can't be...I can't have the wrong place...dammit, I should have never trusted Sasha..."

"Sasha?" Ymir raised an eyebrow. "The thief from TV?"

"Hey!" said Riesen. "She's my friend, and she only stole because the government's too busy fixing all the damage _this, this Hyrr – _has been causing! She's poor, her and her friend Connie, and they can't be helped because how _can _they, when-" She stopped, flustered, when she realised Ymir was looking at her wide-eyed and baffled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Ymir's brows furrowed. "So, what are you trying to say? You're trying to find Hyrr so you can bring her to justice?"

The other couldn't see it, but behind her mask Riesen was trying hard not to look at her nudity. "Yes," she responded. "She needs to be stopped. She's hogging the wealth of this city, and...there are others who need it more than she does!"

Ymir's hand shot out and took Riesen's jaw in her grip harshly. "That Hyrr could _kill_ you. She's a dangerous, ruthless woman." Her unimpressed eyes bored into Riesen's with an intensity indescribable. "Are you so eager to die? Don't throw yourself into that. You don't owe this city _anything_."

Riesen whimpered, her cheeks pushed together. She had never been treated like this. Been so bluntly told like this. "U-unhand me!" she said.

Noticing how tight her hand was, Ymir finally let go and threw the other hand towards her improvised skylight. "You've gotta pay for that somehow, goddamnit."

"I'm s-s-sorry," bowed Riesen. "I will."

Ymir waved her hand. "Don't apologise. Let's just talk about how you're going to repay me."

"Anything, anything at all!"

"How about..."

"Yes?"

Ymir smiled. "I'll train you."

"T-train me? How?" Riesen was taken aback.

"Train you to be a good superhero, of course. You have a _long_ way to go. First of all – _that _costume?"

Riesen crossed her arms. "There's nothing wrong with my costume!"

Laughing, Ymir stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. "No, but we can do something better."

"And you? What do you plan to get out of this?" the smaller of the two asked, suspicion dripping from her voice.

"Simple. I train you. You become better. You save lives. Get money. Save it up. You give the money to me so I can fix this roof."

After a few seconds in which Riesen thought it through, she finally gave in and shook Ymir's hand on it. "You've got a deal."

"Good." Ymir walked towards her bedroom. "You make yourself comfortable around here. This will be your headquarters for now. It's too dangerous for you to roam the streets at night. Hyrr could be on the loose."

As she went out of sight to grab clothes, her heart turned heavy for a moment.

Riesen must not learn the truth about her.


	2. ISSUE 2 - Absinthe and Wolves

The next morning, Ymir stepped out of her bedroom, a colossal yawn escaping her lips. Last night, she had lent Riesen some pillows and a blanket so she could be comfortable on the couch. Ymir had also given her privacy when she asked if she could make a few phone calls. Of course, behind this aspiring hero was still a normal person, with family no doubt, as well as friends, and a life.

Ymir quietly crept up behind the couch and leaned in to Riesen's sleeping form. The blonde was snoring softly, her mask hung on the back of the couch. Amongst the strands of hair which covered her face, Ymir could see her closed eyelids peacefully dreaming.

She bent her body lower until her face was close to Riesen's, and she began to whisper with a smirk on her face.

"Rise and shine, pretty girl! It's time for you to start the day!"

Riesen immediately shot up, leaving Ymir no time at all to bring her head back. Their heads collided with a tremendous amount of force which was accompanied by a loud thump. Riesen whimpered an 'ouch' and began to rub her head, eyes shut tight. Ymir drew herself back after giving a growl.

She shook her head. "You have a thick skull for one so small."

Riesen opened her eyes to look at Ymir and huffed. "You scared me!"

Ymir stuck her tongue out. "Not my fault you scare so easily."

"The least you can do is cook me breakfast."

"Alright, I'll cook you some eggs and all, but you have to tell me your background. What's your story, you know?"

A second of hesitation passed across Riesen's face. This was the first time Ymir noticed how her eyes were like big balls of bright, sparkling blue gems. "O-okay. It's a deal."

Ymir smiled, then looked up. "First, we should probably close that skylight. Sweep the rubble aside, then we'll eat."

Forty minutes later, the hole where the ceiling once was, was temporarily patched up with some tarpaulin they scavenged from Ymir's small storage room. Hints of light still fell through the miniscule holes of the covering, but was otherwise alright...for now. Riesen swept up the dust and the blocks of cement to one side of the room, and Ymir put it all in a big trash bag. Afterwards, the taller of the two cooked a plate of eggs, bacon, toasted some bread, and brought out the butter and jam.

The odd pair sat together on the couch, plates of steaming food in their hands. Riesen munched on her meal with grace, but Ymir saw a slight vigor in the way she chewed and swallowed her food. When Riesen finished, Ymir was only halfway done.

"So...what do you want to know?" she asked her newfound mentor, after taking a large gulp of her orange juice.

"Real name? Where do you live? Why is Riesen your chosen alias?"

Riesen coughed, and her eyes avoided Ymir's. "Christa Renz. I...don't have a family. I live in an apartment in Trost with my friends." She set her plate on the table, and then took her mask from her side. "Riesen means...'monster' in German."

"Christa, huh?" Ymir eyed the last piece of her toast before taking a bite. "And Trost? Rough place. But what's the deal with being a monster? Christa, you're too cute to be one."

A red wall swept across Christa's face at Ymir's comment. "I can..."

"Can...what? I can't hear you if you mumble."

Louder now, Christa brought the skeleton out of the closet. "I can shapeshift into any animal."

Ymir couldn't believe her ears at first. "_Any_ animal?"

"There are still some transformations I haven't tried out yet, and my transformations are...unstable."

"Hmm." Ymir scratched her chin. "Any idea what your best transformation is so far?"

"Well – it's...it's..."

"Lion? Tiger? Gorilla?"

"I wish I could be so strong as to constantly go for those animals, but...unfortunately," Christa blushed, "my best transformation is a...rabbit."

A teasing smile fell on Ymir's face. "A cuuuuuuuuuute little bunny rabbit? With fluffy ears and a cute nose? Awwwwwww Christa! I should've expected as such."

"Ymir! Don't be so mean!" Christa pouted.

"Take it as a compliment, squirt."

"Anyway, are you going to help me or what?"

Sighing, Ymir stood up. "Let me just get decent, and you – get out of that suit. Borrow some of my clothes. We'll be going somewhere no one will spot us, anyway."

Overhead, tall trees loomed over them. The leaves were so thick and abundant that they provided excellent shade from the bright sun. Their shadows cast breezes on the road they drove on, and from her window, Christa watched them rustle above them. Ymir drove them out of the city, into the outskirts, and eventually at least an hour's drive away from their civilisation. The road they took led them to the Forest of Giant Trees, an isolated forest which people very rarely went to, because of the dangerous attacks by the wild animals that lived inside. There was also the occasional ghost story about it, but that was all they were. Just stories.

"Ymir," Christa said as she turned away from her window, "by the way, where'd you get this car?"

"From a car dealer."

"A flashy Ferrari? _Just _from a car dealer?"

"Yeah." Ymir shrugged.

"Where did you even get the money to buy one?" Christa's eyes widened in deep curiosity.

"I do a few odd jobs here and there."

"Penthouse...expensive car...and those sunglasses you're wearing! You're a billionaire, aren't you?"

"Change that to penthouse _with a hole_, Christa."

"You just can't let that go, can you?"

"I never said I wanted a skylight in my ceiling, but you begged to differ."

Ymir slowed down the car and pulled over to the side of where the road inside the forest ended. They got out of the car and Christa saw that beyond where the road ended was a ground of pure brown soil, held down by countless trees. Their trunks were colossal and thick, seemingly invulnerable. Ymir took off her glasses and let her eyes survey the area around them. Not a single soul was found.

"Come on," said Ymir, motioning to Christa.

Christa was too busy shivering where she stood to pay attention to what Ymir said. The sweater she was wearing talked of Ymir in size and in scent. It reached her upper thighs, and the sleeves extended over her fingers. The thickness in the wool kept the cool wind of the forest from kissing her skin, but it did not stop the eerie chill of the forest from entering her soul. There was something about these woods which made her incredibly uneasy. The only comfort she could find was the scent of Ymir that had been stuck on the sweater. Christa didn't know why, but the smell of mild sweat and green anise calmed her.

"Ymir," she began as she walked towards the taller girl slowly, mind still drifting, "do you drink...absinthe?"

"I do, but that's out of the blue. Why?"

"I can smell it on your sweater."

"You know what absinthe smells like?"

"Not exactly, but I know anise is a main ingredient, and that's what your sweater smells like."

"I washed that sweater recently; wouldn't it have removed the scent? Does this mean...you have heightened senses?"

"There was a man I met awhile ago, Mike Zacharius, who worked at a perfume shop. I described to him in great detail about all of the scents he sold in his shop." Christa moved closer to Ymir and clung to her arm as they walked. Her eyes continued to scan the trees around her. "He was impressed, and told me I had a gift. He said I should hone my talent and then gave me free scented candles."

At first, Ymir tensed at the girl's action, but she willed herself to relax. "He was right. I guess it comes with being a _monster_, huh? A beast? An animal who can track the world better than humans can?"

Christa didn't reply.

"'This world is made of monsters and men,'" quoted Ymir.

"Military Commander Erwin Smith?" asked Christa, turning to look at Ymir.

"You claim to be a monster, Christa, but I can see right through you."

When they were deeper into the forest, the fume of fresh rain became overwhelming. To Christa, it seemed as if they had moved into a completely different world. She had never been to the Forest of Giant Trees before, never truly had an experience with nature in its purest form. She was used to the big city, to the crowded streets and narrow alleyways, the glued houses and the smoke. Her shivering lessened and her muscles began to surrender to the peaceful living ebb of the forest. The leaves were verdant and full of dew, the undergrowth by the trees lush and sighing with every breath of the air around them. Christa felt like they were breaching the sanctity of a cathedral. Were these woods made to be walked on by men?

Ymir stopped walking. "Walk ten feet away from me."

Nodding, Christa let go of her arm and did as she was told. She faced Ymir with a curious expression.

"Now – I'm sure your transformations end up breaking your clothes, don't they?"

"Mm. I've actually...never used my powers professionally, only in practice. I've never had to think about what to wear when I actually...go for it. I've destroyed many of my clothes before, so when I practice I just..."

"Just...?"

"Just get n-naked." Christa turned red.

Ymir scoffed. "You've seen me naked. There shouldn't be that kind of awkwardness now."

"It-it's different! You're obviously proud of your body, and w-well, I'm not!"

"Well, I need to see what kind of suit we need to make for you, and in order to do that, I need to see how your transformation works. And not only that, how can I train you if I don't know how far you are with your abilities?" Ymir sighed. "If it'll help, I'll turn around."

"Please do," whimpered Christa.

Ymir turned around, her back to the blonde. She tucked her hands in her jeans, thumbs sticking out. "Go ahead."

The faint sounds of rustling, draping and folding of clothes filled her ears, of feet shifting around the soil. Ymir could sense Christa's uncertainty and her fear. After a minute, loud crackling echoed through the trees. They were the hums of veins being twisted around, bones being broken, bent and moulded, of flesh growing hairs and furs that weren't there in the first place. The resonance of a new heart beating. Ymir heard four feet touch the ground in graceful patters. She couldn't admit it aloud, but inside she held a small heart of fear. Her face remained expressionless until she turned around.

Her mouth turned into a gaping hole as she witnessed the splendour. It was like a magic trick, like a rabbit being pulled out of a hat. She wondered how it was so possible, but she reminded herself that she could make fire from her fingertips. This was just a different form of extraordinary.

A white wolf stood in front of her.

Its thick, snowy mane surrounded its elegant head, its fur a soft mess on its body. The ears on its head were perky and straight, its eyes a glimmering light blue under the soft glow of the forest. Its stare was soft and gentle yet attentive, and this was how Ymir made the resemblance between the person and the beast. This was Christa, alright. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Ymir could see Christa underneath all that fur. She took a few steps forward, crouching so that her face and Christa's were aligned.

Christa gave a light growl and bowed her head.

Ymir took it as an invitation to pat her. "I have to say, Christa, this is actually...amazing."

Her glittering eyes danced in folly as she regarded Ymir with gratitude.

"Have you transformed into a wolf before?"

Christa shook her head.

"A first time thing, huh? You know I expected your first transformation in front of me to be a bunny rabbit."

Eyes narrowed now, Christa growled louder than she had before.

"Relax," smiled Ymir. "I wonder what actually influences your transformations. You said they were unstable, so I assume most of the time you can't control them? Maybe a huge part of it involves your emotions, or maybe the people you're around with. Or maybe the environment. A lot of stuff can go into this."

Christa nodded in agreement, licking Ymir's hand.

"Wolf slobber?" Ymir raised an eyebrow. "Really, Christa?"

A small smile seemed to appear on the wolf's face, and she gave a sweet howl.

"Man, this is gonna be a fun ride." Ymir ruffled Christa's mane, a devious grin playing on her lips.

The two spent their whole day in the Forest of Giant Trees, with Ymir giving commands for Christa to do, such as running in and out of the trees like crazy; leaping and bounding towards the trunks they pretended were targets. Christa was everything like a real wolf was. Quick, agile, yet forceful. Ymir had to remind herself a few times that the wolf was actually a girl, and not a full-time animal. It was incredible to see a different kind of power at work, a power that incorporates such soul and spiritual connection to nature itself. It was clear to Ymir that though Christa could perform decently, she needed more discipline and training in order to harness the full potential of her gift. When Christa had clearly had enough training for the day, Ymir closed her eyes and handed her the clothes back, and within seconds Christa became petite, blonde-haired Christa.

It was six in the evening and the sun had already retreated behind the horizon, a soft tinge of yellow and green and indigo battling for dominance of the night sky. A few stars shot out of the dark, and the streetlights glowed from where they stood. The road back in the city was congested, as it was the rush hour. Car lights of red and white illuminated Ymir's face as she tapped on the steering wheel, mind deep in thought.

"Hey Ymir," said Christa, "where are we going next?"

"Since I have an idea of what you need in a suit, I'm taking us to some friends who can give you what you need." Ymir's thoughts ceased and she stole fleeting glances at Christa while she drove.

"Tailors?"

"Not just any tailors. The best-ˮ

"-TAILORS IN TOWN!" screamed Jean as he ushered Ymir and Christa inside the workshop.

His partner, Marco, was sitting on an office chair facing a big desk. A table lamp shone on part of his face, but mainly on the huge drawing tablet where he was designing some kind of clothing. A stylus in hand, his freckled face concentrated on getting the design finished. Though, when his eye caught sight of the two visitors, he stopped his work, swivelled in his chair and stood up to shake their hands.

"And HERE is my fellow tailor, Marco!" introduced Jean as he moved to Marco's side.

Marco shook Ymir's hand. "Nice to see you again, Ymir." Then he turned to Christa, an even nicer smile on his lips. "Ah, an angel with Ymir? Surprising."

Christa blushed. This Marco seemed like he never had a bad day in his life. She shook his hand. "I'm Christa Renz."

"Marco Bodt, at your service. My partner here is Jean Kirschtein, but you probably knew that already." His smile was so sweet and genuine that Christa just wanted to ask him how he maintained such positivity. "Which one of you needs a suit?"

Before Christa could answer, Ymir spoke up. "Christa here does. She needs something that's flexible, you know? Something that will stay on her body without getting ripped, but at the same time will adapt to her form."

Jean took an electronic notepad out and began listing all the things that Ymir began saying.

"Oh? So something that suits...a shapeshifter?" Marco asked.

"Wait – how did you-ˮ began Christa but was cut off by Ymir.

"It's okay, Christa, their lips are sealed."

"Have no fear." assured Jean, grinning at Christa. "It's all in the business. Your secrets are safe with us."

"We are a hero's number one friend, Christa, because we can make you look fashionable but at the same time make sure we act like we never even met you!" Marco winked. "So, how about the colours?"

"Christa?" Ymir nudged.

"Well..." Christa began listing all the colours that was present on her first suit. Blue and white, those were her colours. She also described her old suit in detail to give the tailors an idea of what she'd want in a new one.

When she was done, Jean finished off his notes. "All done. You've given us a good picture, Christa."

Marco smiled. "With your vision and ours, you will soon have the most fabulous superhero suit ever created! We can see it now, Christa – shiny, new, dependable, strong and classically extravagant!"

Christa grinned excitedly. "Thank you Marco, and thank you Jean! I can't wait!"

"Alright," said Ymir, "let's go Christa. Chinese takeaway tonight! See you soon, dorks. Better get that suit done well, or you'll pay for it!"

They left the workshop and into the cold of the night, Christa hugging herself not from the cold, but from the pure adrenaline that the excitement of having a new suit soon. After they ordered some noodle boxes at their closest Chinese restaurant, they headed back for Ymir's apartment. Excited as she was about everything, Christa couldn't stop thinking about how mysterious Ymir was. She promised to herself that she'd find out everything about the tanned, freckled girl before the end of their time together.


	3. ISSUE 3 - The Start Of

Two weeks passed quickly after Christa's first transformation in front of Ymir. They would spend most of their days in the Forest of Giant Trees, hung on the same routine. Drive to the outskirts in a red Ferrari, sunglasses on Ymir, Christa wearing Ymir's clothes, stopping just by the end of the road only to get out. Ymir closing her eyes in infinite curiosity about how Christa's body looked like, but also always respecting her. Christa, who started out rigid and tense when they first started, but gradually began to be more and more relaxed each day. Every time Ymir turned around and took Christa's clothes, she'd hear the crackling of the bones again and when she'd look back, Christa would be in an animal form again. The transformations would range from a deer to an owl, and even to a sheep. Then after Christa would complete rigorous running sessions and training inside the forest, Ymir would ask her to transform back so that she wouldn't wear herself out too much. Ymir would close her eyes and hand her clothes back again.

But after those two weeks, on a Saturday, Ymir sat on the leather couch of her penthouse. The skylight on the ceiling had been fixed a few days ago by some carpenters Ymir commissioned...and threatened, if they didn't finish the repairs as quick as they could. Body edged onto the side of the couch, Ymir spent the morning eyeing Christa up and down.

Christa had her legs to her chest, her bare toes wiggling on the edge of the couch. Her wide eyes were hooked onto an Animal Planet show about seals in the Arctic.

"Ymir, Ymir look!" The blonde's hand reached over and tapped Ymir's leg excitedly. "Look how cute they are!"

When Ymir didn't reply, Christa turned her head to see that Ymir was only looking at her in pure and utter amusement. Even the freckles in her face seemed to give smug smiles to Christa.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Scooting over close, Ymir took the remote and closed the TV. She winked. "_You're _the cute one. How about we go shopping?"

"Shopping?" Christa blushed.

"Yeah. I mean, all you've been wearing are my clothes. I'm sure you'd like something more fashionable? Something that actually fits you?"

"Aren't we going training today?"

"I think you deserve a good break, squirt."

Christa clapped her hands together and squealed. "You – you really mean it, Ymir!?"

"Sure." It took every fibre of Ymir's being not to smile like an absolute idiot.

"Oh b-but," stuttered Christa, "I couldn't let you buy me clothes, I mean, I have some back in my apartment in Trost –ˮ

"Don't worry about that. I'm a billionaire aren't I? Besides, I think it would be dangerous for you to return to Trost without your training done."

"Okay, only if you're sure."

"Come on, Christa, I'm always sure."

The two rocked up at the biggest shopping centre in uptown Rose, Wallside Mall, a huge complex which boasted eight floors and two connected buildings. Hordes of people crowded the pathways and though the corridors lined with shops were incredibly wide, it was impossible for Ymir and Christa to find themselves in a square of their own space. This was to be expected, though – it was a Saturday, which meant no work, and of course people would want to be out with family and friends. All varieties of human body odours congested the air, and the only reprieve they got from this hazy cloud was the occasional blast of huge cold wind from the air-conditioning vents that lined the ceilings.

Ymir stayed behind Christa's back, watching the smaller girl carefully. Throngs of shoulders and sides would bump into her lithe body, and from time to time, she'd almost end up getting knocked over. Christa was no short of strong, Ymir knew, but it was hard to keep your balance in a place where people shuffled like zombies and gave no damn about who they hit. So, after about twenty minutes of them just trying to get to where they wanted to go, Ymir cursed under her breath and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Despite all of the cooling systems, there was nothing like a mass of bodies when it came to generating heat.

Pushing her sleeves up, Ymir took Christa by her arms and moved in close. She used her own body to protect the girl, and to speed up their process of moving forward.

Christa gasped loudly and craned her neck to look at Ymir. "Ymir! You scared me again!"

"Poor little Christa was getting bullied by the crowd, so I decided to help!" cackled Ymir.

Christa focused on walking again. "I thought someone else was grabbing me!"

"I'd never let my Christa get grabbed by someone else other than me," Ymir teased.

Ymir felt Christa freeze for a second – out of embarrassment, or out of shock, she didn't know. "In any case, thank you."

"For what? Groping you?"

"Y-Ymir!"

"Just kidding."

"Thank you for keeping the crowd from crushing me-ˮ

Ymir was about to apologise cockily, until Christa's shrill squeal filled her ears for the second time today. "Ymir! Look! Look at all these shops! Those pretty dresses! And those shorts! Let's go inside! Let's gooooooooooooooooo!"

With that, and amongst Ymir's initial confusion, she suddenly saw her own hand being dragged away, her body being jerked away from the crowd's magnetic pull, her lungs opening up and leaving the stench of people behind. She found herself thrust into a sweet-smelling shop filled to the brim with all kinds of short shorts, tops, skirts, dresses, and jeans. Many women were walking around, pulling out shirts and putting them against their chests, checking the prices, disappearing and reappearing from the changing rooms and engaging in lively chatter with their friends.

Christa let go of Ymir's hand and began flicking through the clothes in one aisle excitedly, and then the next, and then the one after that, on and on. It was like watching a tornado - a _mini_ tornado at that – ravage the place. It confounded her how Christa moved so _quickly_. Sure, it was no surprise that she was like that in her animal forms, but in real life...Ymir had never seen someone so driven when it came to clothes. Ymir stood there awkwardly, scratching her head from time to time and shooting a glance at all the other women in the shop. Surprisingly, to her, she found none attractive. All she could focus on were Christa's rapid movements. About thirty minutes later, Ymir lost sight of Christa. She looked everywhere, and realised that she had retreated into one of the changing rooms to try out all her new picks.

As soon as Ymir found herself by one curtain, it opened abruptly and a small part of her jumped. To her relief, it was Christa. She was clad in a cute sun dress which complimented her small legs quite well. It brightened her hair and made her look like a ball of sunshine.

"Weeeeeeeeeell," she spun around, "what do you think?"

For a moment, Ymir was entranced in a single loop of memory – Christa spinning, her dress twirling around her, her hair flowing, her eyes dancing – and when she blinked and released her daydream, she realised how hot her face grew.

"Ymir? Are you alright?"

"Wh-what? Yeah!?"

"I said," Christa smiled, "what do you think?"

"It's, holy wow, Christa – it's great!" Ymir's voice turned high-pitched, then she noticed how idiotic she sounded then coughed. "It's uh, not bad."

Giggling, Christa curtsied. "Wait here and I'll showcase all the things I want to get!"

Before Ymir could protest, and in all honesty she didn't want to, Christa went into the changing rooms again. Ymir sighed, a hint of a smile on her face, and sat down on one of the round seats that the store offered. She was going to be here for awhile; she might as well get comfortable.

Over the next hour and a half, Christa zoomed in and out of the changing room wearing things like high-waisted shorts, ripped shorts, sleeveless tops, skirts, and skinny jeans. All of the designs she picked had three themes: colourful, vibrant and bubbly. Ymir thought about how many partners thought themselves in torture every time their girlfriends made them wait _this _long, but when Ymir thought about her situation, she could admit that she actually _enjoyed _it. After Christa's last dress-up, the two went to the counter and paid for her choices.

Christa excitedly watched as the cashier scanned the items and bagged them one by one. The cashier - who already had a knowing smile when she spotted them come up – noticed Christa's anticipation.

"Your girlfriend's lucky she's got someone to buy her all of this," commented the cashier with a bright grin.

Ymir scoffed. "Yeah, all forty items of it."

"We're not-ˮ protested Christa.

"And for the record, _I'm_ the lucky one," Ymir said as she handed over her credit card. "I don't have the cash on me. Here."

After paying for the clothes, Christa suggested that they go for some lunch. They went to a well-known steakhouse on the sixth floor of the mall and took a table situated by the walls. The mouth-watering aroma of tender meat wafted through the air, mixed with the alluring smell of herbs and spices and roasted potatoes. Vintage posters of old movies lined the warm wallpapered walls. Every now and then a bell rang.

Ymir placed the bags of clothing beside her and sat opposite Christa. They chose from the menu in silence, with little snippets of murmurs here and there from Christa. When the waiter came to take down their orders, Ymir smiled when Christa ordered a whole ton of food.

"So," Ymir began as she handed back their menus to the waiter, "did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yes, I did!" Christa chirped. "I can't thank you enough for it all, Ymir!"

"You better wear all of these. They all suit you."

"Thank you, I will!" Christa thought for a second, and then tapped her chin. "So, you know, I want to know a bit more about you."

"Me? I'm not very interesting."

"_Two _weeks of knowing each other. That's something, at least, but I don't even know your basic details."

"You know all that you need to know."

"You're rich, dependable, and trustworthy."

"Dependable and trustworthy? Wow, having you around _has _changed me."

"Why? What were you before you met me?"

"An asshole."

"You're still mean, you know."

"Yeah, but not as mean as I was."

"Come on, Ymiiiiiir," Christa whined. "Tell me about you."

"Look who's talking." Ymir sneered. "Miss Christa Renz, who lives in Trost, with her friends. I don't know _anything _beyond that."

"That's because you haven't asked!"

Ymir caved in, sighing in defeat. "I honestly don't _know _what to tell you." Except for the fact that I'm Hyrr, she thought. "I'm...Ymir...I don't really care for a last name, I've got no friends, no family obviously, but I've got tons of cash, so my life's pretty good."

The waiter came in and brought their food. A steak and chips plate, a club sandwich and red wine for Ymir; _two _steak and chips plates, a bowl of soup, a side of macaroni and cheese and a milkshake for Christa. After Ymir thanked the waiter, she got her reply.

"But, _I'm_ your friend, aren't I, Ymir?" Christa asked, taking a sip of her soup.

A choked chuckle vibrated from Ymir's throat. "Let's not get carried away."

A month later, on a rainy Thursday when nobody expected a thunderstorm to pass by, Christa and Ymir couldn't do anything but stay in the penthouse all day. They heard the constant pattering of the heavy rain play on the rooftop and the occasional thunder that would boom somewhere in the distance. Outside the windows they could see dark clouds cry, their tears desperately trying to wash the pollution and grime off the city.

Lightning would come and go like the lights that go off from cameras, and when they did, they'd paint Christa's worried face in a ghastly tone. She was huddled in a thick blanket on the sofa, watching the news on the TV intently. Ymir sat across from her, browsing on her laptop, her index finger stretched across her jaw.

"Ymir?" Christa called.

"Mmm?"

"Look at what's happening." Taking the remote, Christa turned up the volume.

Immediately, when she heard the first words, Ymir found herself completely focused on the news segment.

"...Because of the "legendary" Hyrr's hiatus, people have been spending their time rejoicing in the rain. They say that the rain is washing away the embers of what used to be the standing of a tyrannic hero." Video footage of civilians literally out of their homes frolicking in the rain appeared. "The government are also curious as to where Hyrr has suddenly disappeared, and doubt that she has left town for good."

Christa turned it down again as the news changed to a new fruit holder being invented. "Did you hear that? Hyrr's gone! Or, rather, in hiding." Her face curved into a smile. "I'm confident I can confront her now. If she's so cowardly to have gone from view like this, then she must be growing weak."

A scowl as dark as the clouds outside filled Ymir's face. "She's in _hiding_, not _dead_." Her voice turned gritty. "It won't stop her from killing you. If you try to find her, she'll find you first. Who knows? She's probably heard about you. The girl who wants to take her down. If you _try _anything, she'll always have the upper hand. _Don't _throw your life away like that."

A look of worry appeared on Christa's face. "What's wrong, Ymir?"

"What...?"

"I mean, you sound so passionate about her. Have you met her? Did she...hurt you?"

"No, I haven't met her." Ymir gulped.

"Then why are you so-ˮ

"_Because _if she kills you, then you won't be in my debt anymore."

Christa nodded, and went back to watching in silence. For a moment, she thought that Ymir had truly cared for her. That the brunette truly wanted her to live, because she cared. Her heart was downcast, chest heavy.

Ymir studied Christa's sad expression for awhile. She could never know. It wasn't an option. If she knew, things wouldn't be so high-sailing anymore. It was selfish to keep her from the truth, but at least could admit to herself that she _was _thinking of herself. For a second she thought, maybe someday, Christa would have to know, but it wasn't today. She continued to browse on her laptop, but she couldn't even focus on that. Her mind was too preoccupied with what she would do if Christa ever found out.

She was sure of one thing – Christa would be out of her life forever.


	4. ISSUE 4 - Bodies I

Three months after the first news of Hyrr's disappearance appeared, a series of riots emerged throughout the poorest districts in Trost. They were easy to ignore, at first, but Ymir knew better. It was a hot day to be out and temperatures were soaring to unbelievably high degrees, but it was no excuse to refrain from training. With what was happening now, they only had to work harder.

A fluorescent, abnormal lime light peeked through the canopies of the trees, and every time Christa would look up, the sun would smite her with a blinding brilliance. She was a fox today, a light-coated, fast-moving creature that held her eyes. Beneath her dirty paws, the leaves would rustle in the crispiest ways possible. The wind from her speed would greet her as she moved in and out of the massive trees. Her limbs moved mechanically, like the wheels on an old-fashioned steam train, yet she always managed to maintain a careful grace which made Ymir slightly green with envy.

As Christa made her last turn towards Ymir, she took a short glance at her mentor's face. Her olive skin was drenched in sweat, collarbones extremely defined under the brash haze of the noon. Her freckled face glistened under a silvery tone.

Ymir clapped, and gave Christa a pleased smile. "What can I say? You've done really well in such a short amount of time."

Christa gave the best fox smile she could muster, and cooed. Ymir kneeled and gave her head a harsh but endearing ruffle. Their eyes locked, but it was not between a beast and a woman, but two friends who were taking in the moment of their own solace. It was impossible to deny that over the course of their time, rapport was built. But Ymir could see that it was only on the surface. There was more truth to dig up, but for now, this...this was good enough. Ymir found that Christa's bones were already carved into the forest, and that they had already began paving a way into her heart. And each day, she would get a small tug, just at the corners of her soul, and she'd remember what she was, who she was, and she'd see that her companion was still left in the dark.

"Transform back now, Christa," Ymir said quietly.

She turned to look away, grabbing the girl's clothes, but she felt a furry touch on her wrist. Turning her head back, she asked, "What now?"

Christa kept her paw there, lightly digging at Ymir's skin, trying to make her understand.

"...Christa?"

The fox closed her eyes, and bowed her head. Ymir watched on. Pure amazement clamped her heart with a tight grip and did not want to let go. Every single rust-coloured hair on her shiny coat began shrinking, and they'd shrink until they were on her flesh. Her bones began straightening and shape-shifting back to the structure of the normal human anatomy with ease. Her limbs became longer, her body stretched out, and her paws grew until they were nothing more than warm hands. Scarlet and white fur, back into the peachy-white flesh. Eyes, widening back into their blue orbs. Head growing back every single strand of silky, golden locks. A fox's body, turning into a young woman's – a lean stomach, a pair of small breasts, long slender arms and legs. Ymir, her eyes like plates in shock, sat there appreciating the beauty that matched the strength, the grace that matched the power, the raw, untouched and pure soul that could not be done justice simply by a photograph. Ymir pitied those who did not capture the moment with her, but also felt grateful that only she was given the gift of such a wonder.

Christa kept her hand there, her thumb brushing over Ymir's arm. "I'm still not proud of my body, because I know I can shape it into something more powerful, something better, but-ˮ

"You're beautiful," Ymir breathed, hoping it wasn't too much.

Bright red tomatoes coloured Christa's face. "I-I just...I think, I can trust you like that now."

"You...you don't want to trust me."

"B-but I do, I really do, and I mean it, and I-I've never meant anything like it before!"

"I'm still...I'm still vague to you, aren't I?" sighed Ymir. "Just an unknown-ˮ

"No!" protested Christa. "No, you're not! I know you're much more than what you're letting on, but you were right! I don't need to know everything. I know all I need to know."

Ymir went silent, unable to form the words in her head. The guilty thoughts that wanted to be spoken in truths hovered in every part of her mind.

"I don't know why I'm saying this _now_, maybe the heat is making me itchy and I just have to say it, but you do care, even though you act like you don't. And it hurts when you act, because I know you do. I can trust you because you care, because you're an absolute ass, but you're not as selfish as you make yourself out to be-ˮ

"Christa...you think so highly of me. I'm not the hero you think I am."

Christa opened her mouth to reply, but a buzz broke their bubble. It came from the back pocket of Ymir's jeans.

Ymir wanted to ignore it, but after a few seconds of it not stopping, she groaned and took it out, checking the lock screen. MARCO CALLING. She pressed the phone to her ear, eyebrows furrowed. On the other end of the line, the voice was frantic and shaken. Because they were in the Forest of Giant Trees, away from civilisation, the signal was terrible.

"Ymir, Ymir, it's-Je-calling, Marco can't-ome to the phon-people are knoc-doors down-they're coming for us-Christa's-uit-you have to get it-befo-they get here-they know this is where-heroes come to-quickly—be-re-too late."

The call ended, and Ymir quickly handed Christa her clothes. She tucked her phone back in her pocket. "We need to go. Now."

Christa scrambled up quickly to dress. "What's wrong? Who was it?"

"Jean. People are gonna tear down the place, and if we let them, we're not gonna get your suit."

Nodding in response, Christa finished putting her clothes back on and they both jogged back to the Ferrari that waited for them back on the road.

Ymir rolled down the windows as they drove to eastside Maria. The suffocating smell of leather left the windows and a warm breeze flew past their faces. Fortunately, there was barely any traffic, so when they got to the wider streets, Ymir stepped on the gas as hard as she could and everything went past like a blur. Christa's eyes watered with the speed that they were going. After they took a couple more turns, and then down into the street where Jean and Marco's were, they saw it. With mirages of the sweltering heat bending the scenery in the background, a crowd of armed people were in the foreground. They had spiked bats, shovels, pipes and any household items or homemade weapons they could get their thirsty hands on. They were too busy getting wild to see Ymir pulling the car over to the side of the street.

Christa watched in horror as the crowd closed in on Jean and Marco's workshop. The heavy chanting and foreboding shouts grew louder as they moved to the front door and began using their fists to knock. Loud banging echoed throughout the whole street. More and more people gathered outside to watch the mob that wanted to tear the place into pieces.

"What are we going to do?" asked Christa, her voice slightly trembling.

"We'll quickly sneak in that alley over there and use the back door," Ymir replied, studying the scene carefully.

"And if that doesn't work?"

"We...run?"

"Seriously, Ymir?"

"Hey – don't look at me like that. Besides, which one of us here can transform into an animal and run away at the speed of light?"

Christa cocked an eyebrow and rolled her eyes. Ymir got out of the car. "Thought so. Now, let's get this into motion."

With Ymir in the lead, they both crept up to the alleyway that connected to the back entrance of the workshop. As they got closer, the deafening roars of the mob decimated their ears with insults and profanity. Two bulky men were taking turns slamming their bodies into the iron-shuttered door, and for now they weren't close to breaking it, but if it continued, they would get in for sure. The leader, a thin-moustached man in his forties, had a black bat raised. He was giving his crowd the obligatory 'get-me-pumped-about-something' pep talk.

"Hyrr is _nowhere_ to be found, so that calls for a strike! The people inside this store have been reported to be tailors. Not just tailors. TAILORS WHO SELL SUPERSUITS TO HEROES LIKE HYRR!"

A chorus of agreement emanated from the large group.

"So are we going to just let them go about their business? Let them be contacts of people like Hyrr?"

Booing and disagreements.

"Let's go, then, brothers and sisters! Let us help break down this door and take the hero-sympathizers!"

More people joined the two bulky men in attempting to drive down the door. Ymir looked around – citizens who weren't participating in the heinous trespassing were bringing out their phones to contact the police. Some might've agreed with what the crowd was doing, but perhaps they thought it wasn't what was best. As much as people wanted to bring Hyrr down, they did not want to see their city torn down, even if it started small, with two men in a workshop.

The back entrance was locked by a metal door that could only be opened with a combination. Ymir, fortunately, was trusted with it. She input the numbers into the keypad and the door swung open for the both of them. The room that they found themselves into was the armoury, a clean white large space which had big cylindrical containers lining the sides of the walls. Each of the containers contained a suit, and every single one was unique in shape, size, style and colour. Vibrant scarlets, golds, viridians, ceruleans and whites in the form of masks, boots, capes, gloves and the main suits themselves.

At the far end of the room, Marco was organising folders and files of sketches and designs into a black briefcase. His hands worked frantically, his calm and happy expression replaced by a panicked one. He mumbled to himself as he packed his work away. Jean was in the process of grabbing stacks of bills out from a safe and packing them into a duffel bag.

Marco noticed the two women first. As he placed the last design in his briefcase, he stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. "Ymir, Christa. Good to see you two."

"Jean called," said Ymir, "what's going on?"

Marco took a silver, shiny briefcase that had lain by his feet and handed it to Ymir. It was a giant compared to normal briefcases. "This is Christa's suit. I only finished it yesterday. Somehow people found out that this is a black market for suits."

Christa's eyes turned wide at the mention of her suit. It was finally done! After such a long time! Her heart could barely contain the excitement and began doing back flips inside her chest.

"_Hardly_ black market." Ymir smirked. "I mean, everything's quite professional."

"And we're not even doing _anything _against the law!" complained Jean, closing the zipper on the duffel bag.

"That's true for now, but times are changing. Soon enough, the government will agree with these protestors and ban superheroes for good." Marco passed two bags to Ymir. "We don't have a ride, so you can act as the chauffeur."

"What!?" Ymir said, adjusting her grip on the items she carried. "My Ferrari's a two seater!"

"Don't worry, you're not a chauffeur for Marco and I," Jean said. "We'll just have to separate. It's the best thing to do at this rate. You'll help us transport our things. In case anything happens, not all would be lost. We'll rendezvous at our new safehouse in west Shingashina."

"This better work, Kirschtein." Ymir turned to leave out the back, her teeth gnashing against her words. "I'm not getting my ass kicked because of you two."

"I don't understand," Christa began as she followed Ymir, "why do people assume that all superheroes are like Hyrr?"

Marco went behind her, all his work's designs tucked under his arms. There was a hitch in his breath before he answered. "That's because no one else knows any better. All this city's ever known is Hyrr, and...the...the..."

"Now's not the time to think about that guy," Jean said as he closed the door behind them, beads of sweat trailing down his chin. "We gotta go."

"Alright, how are you guys going to get anywhere?" asked Ymir before heading for her car.

"We're going to take a cab," said Jean. "This back alley leads to another street. We should be fine. But, um...Ymir?"

"What...?" Ymir cocked a suspicious eyebrow.

"It'd be nice if we had the crowd occupied somehow, to give us the time."

"What do you want me to do? Start a brawl?"

Jean smiled, his eyes smug and knowing.


	5. ISSUE 5 - Bodies II

"Oi!" shouted Ymir, her hands cupped around her mouth.

The mob ignored her. They continued to ram down the workshop's door. Ymir looked behind her. Her Ferrari was still parked on the side of the street, packed with their assigned cargo. In the driver's seat, however, was Christa, her hands tightly wound around the steering wheel. She adjusted the mirrors every now and then, face scrunched in a determined yet uncertain manner. Ymir made her the designated getaway driver whilst she commenced her distraction. Christa saw that Ymir couldn't grab their attention. She pointed downwards. Ymir looked down and beside her feet was an empty beer bottle.

Taking ahold of it, she brought her arm back and aimed at one of the men who were bringing down the door. When it left her hand, it swiftly sailed through the air, the breeze carrying it quietly, until it smashed into the man's back. The glass instantly shattered into pieces, the fragile sound of spitting breaking their continuous booming chants. A new wave of silence rushed over the scene. Even the onlookers seemed to stop breathing. The man looked at Ymir disbelievingly, as if he was unable to process what just happened to him.

The leader stepped out of the crowd and walked a few feet towards Ymir. His mouth gaped. "What...is the meaning of this!?"

Ymir spat towards his direction. "What's your name? Why are you doing something like _this_, huh?"

He knit his brows and scowled. "The name's Hannes. What I'm doing is none of your business."

"Let me guess. You want to bring down Hyrr, so in order to do that, you want to take these men out?"

"Not take them out," he replied. "Just teach them a lesson. I'm doing this for the people I care about. They're starving, and meanwhile, Hyrr is somewhere living the life."

"So you've resorted to this instead?"

"You wouldn't understand. You seem like you want to stop us. I can tell, you don't know how it feels to care about something well enough to fight for it."

"You've got me. You know what's going to happen. We better get started, then." A dangerous, daring grin dropped on Ymir's lips.

Hannes gulped, then nodded to his party. His eyes flared when he stared back at Ymir. "So be it."

About twenty bodies, including Hannes, charged towards Ymir in unison, their weapons raised above their heads. Their movement created a cloud of stampede dust, their feet like hooves on wild ground. This band of armed civilians didn't frighten Ymir at all. She bent to a slight stance, her legs apart, her fists raised. Her first victim was a six foot tall man who held a spiked bat. A vicious snarl, much like a dog's, left his throat. Ymir ducked when he swung the bat, and caught both of his arms above his head.

"Hi-yaa!" groaned Ymir, using all of the strength she held in her body to throw the man down to the ground. He fell with a large thump.

Two young men moved in to hit Ymir with their rolling pins, but she dodged and took both of their heads and smashed them together. They crumpled down, instant knockouts. Then the whole pack descended on Ymir like fruit flies on a bowl of mangoes. She landed her punches whenever she saw an opening, and kicked at every turn they tried to close in. Her knuckles were made of steel, and she wasn't afraid to boast. Hand to hand combat was nothing but a piece of cake for her. Under the hot, steaming sun, there was the sound of jaws breaking, limbs being twisted and bodies falling like dominoes. A woman found Ymir in a weakness and before the freckled girl knew it, her lip was busted. She tasted blood in her mouth and felt a rip on the edge of her mouth. Another fist collided with her face, this time on her right eye. While she was slightly disoriented, a large force crashed down on her nose. Ymir stumbled back, feeling the bones on the bridge crack and misplace. A trickle of blood ran down to her lips. Someone else kicked her hard in the stomach – the blow came overwhelmingly, and when it was gone, the feeling of a work boot stuck in her gut was present. Ymir buckled over, coughing up blood. Shaking her head, she compelled herself to straighten up. She used the last of her strength to get back at her opponents. Her elbows flew left and right, satisfaction in her mind whenever she felt them strike a chord. Evading most of the attacks now, she then knocked out the majority of the party.

About fourteen bodies lay on the ground, some on top of each other, some sporting minor injuries, some with injuries that could scar them for the rest of their lives. The six who remained standing, including Hannes, gave Ymir cowardly stares. They were shaking like leaves on a windy day.

"This-this isn't over," Hannes whimpered.

"Hell it isn't," Ymir said. She spat one of her molar teeth onto the ground. It was mixed with blood.

The six of them retreated and ran down the street, dropping their weapons along the way. The onlookers stood there as if they were watching a horror movie.

"Well?" Ymir began walking back to the Ferrari. "What are you all still doing here? Show's over. Scram."

No one moved out of sight. No one went back in to the buildings where they attended to their businesses. All they did was step out of the street and into the sidewalks.

Through the windscreen, Christa's face was in every state of worry possible. Ymir got inside the passenger's seat and slammed the door. She opened the front compartment and took out a bottle of absinthe. She took a small drink, and offered some to Christa. The blonde declined by shaking her head, and then she turned the engine on. She wasn't an excellent driver, nor a fast one, but she could operate a car as well as the next person could. Christa didn't know the exact way to Shingashina so she put the location onto the GPS and began to drive. Her eyes were focused on the road, but her mind kept drifting to Ymir. Every now and again she'd glance at her.

Ymir's face was absolutely drenched in sweat and her long-sleeved shirt stuck to her body. Christa turned the windows down to let the wind come in. Strands of Ymir's messy hair flew helplessly around her. The sides of her right eye were swollen and pink, a red graze on the edge of her brow. There was a thin, vermillion-coloured sliver on her left cheek. Her nose was clearly busted up, but thankfully the bleeding had stopped. There was a tear in her lip, and around the side of her mouth a small bruise began to form. Though her physical appearance was mangled, she didn't seem to care. Her hazel eyes were looking forward, a cold expression on her face.

Christa desperately wanted to say something, but she willed herself not to. Ymir was clearly not in a talking mood. They drove in silence for the whole of the trip to Shingashina.

It was late in the afternoon when they arrived at the apartment front. It was one of those apartments that went above a store. In this case, the building it was situated on was a huge, bricked foundation with all sorts of shops lined on the ground floors. There was a coffee shop further down the road, then a bookstore, a fruit stand, and so on. The shop below the apartment was a small eatery with a homemade atmosphere. The sign read: JAEGER AND CO. CATERERS. Christa parked the car on the side of the street.

"Go ahead," said Ymir. "Check if it's the right place. I'll take the things."

Christa nodded and got out of the car. The sky overhead was a mix of lavenders and salmon pinks, the horizon stretching out with buildings in the distance, and even beyond that, the setting sun. The heat had died down, and it wasn't so humid anymore, but it was still quite warm. The faintest whisper of a cool breeze swept by. Two wooden tables from the eatery took a bit of space on the sidewalk. The main part of the eatery was simply open to the air outside, not separated by glass walls. Inside, the walls were painted cream, and a large ceiling fan, one that was not as fancy as Ymir's, twirled around on the ceiling. Dark red diner seats with white tables filled the interior of the eatery. Homecooked scents floated from the eatery's kitchen and onto the sidewalk. She could make out a dark-haired girl in a red scarf working behind the counter, whilst a brown-haired boy placed desserts and treats into the glass racks beside the counter.

"Can I help you?"

Christa turned her head to the voice. It was a young man about her age, with hair that blonde bobbed around his face. His bright blue eyes seemed friendly enough. He was wearing a white apron over a pastel blue polo. A straw broom was held in his hands.

"I-I'm Christa Renz," she said.

"Armin Arlert, pleased to meet you." He smiled and shook her hand.

"Could you please tell me who lives up in the apartment upstairs?"

"Jean Kir-ˮ Armin's eyes widened. "Oh! You must be the Christa they told us about. Is Ymir with you?"

"Yes," Christa found herself answering, then she tilted her head. "But wait, how do you know-ˮ

"Don't worry. Jean and Marco are friends. They told me to keep an eye out for you and Ymir. They've been waiting for you to come back. But perhaps before you go up, you'd want to meet Eren and Mikasa first? They'd be happy to see you-ˮ

"Maybe some other time." It was Ymir's husky voice. She stepped beside Christa, arms full of the cargo. Her face seemed even more injured under the light she was in.

"Oh!" Armin gasped, staring at Ymir's face. "Yes, you should...you should get that looked out first. Some other time would be good."

"It was nice meeting you, Armin." Christa said, smiling. "We'll be sure to stop by."

"Holy shit!" Jean said for the hundredth time, his eyes still inspecting Ymir's face. "What the hell is that!?"

Ymir glared at him disapprovingly. "What does it look like!?"

"Nothing pretty, for sure!"

"_No fucking way_, Jean. I saved your asses by getting myself beat."

"Don't listen to Jean, Ymir." Marco paced around the room, rubbing his neck. "We're grateful. What you did gave us a lot of time to get out without anyone noticing."

Christa wandered around the apartment as she listened to their exchanges. The apartment wasn't too shabby – the couch was moth-eaten but the springs were fairly intact, the pale apple green wallpaper on the walls were holding up pretty well, some of the floorboards creaked when they were stepped on, but that didn't matter much. The window overlooking the street was rain-stained, grimy and dusty. The lighting could have been better, but wasn't too bad with the yellow sconces illuminating the place. The bathroom was as good as it was gonna get, despite the stains on some of the tiles, and some of the hairballs stuck in the shower drain. The small kitchen seemed to be working fine, but Christa knew you'd have to be extra careful with the piece of work that was the oven. The bedroom wasn't anything special – just a double bed with small bedside tables. Two triangular lamps stood on each table. The living room was where everyone was. A cute cable TV sat on a wooden dresser which faced the moth-eaten couch.

When Christa finished looking around, she leaned against the wall facing the living room, watching the other three. Ymir was sitting on the couch very loosely, her legs spread apart, one arm on the back of the couch and one arm holding an icebag against her forehead. Jean was sitting on a worn-out leather footrest, while Marco stood standing.

"...Well whose idea was it for me to get into a fight, huh?" Ymir asked, poison in her words.

"I never said to let those goons get to you!" Jean said, his voice rising.

"What do you think was going to happen? I was one person against how many – twenty, something or other? And they had weapons!"

"You weren't alone!"

Everyone in the room turned to look at Christa. Jean's expression was accusing, while Marco's face was full of sympathy. Ymir's was angry, but for a flicker of a moment, Christa swore she saw her features soften. They returned back to their argument.

"Christa!? I should have let Christa take those guys on!?" Ymir shouted.

"Not by herself!" Jean stated, as if it was a matter-of-fact.

"She can't fight for shit! If I let her, she would have died then and there!"

"Maybe she would've been able to if you weren't such a _good-for-nothing _mentor!" Jean stood up, pushing the footrest aside. His shoulders moved up and down with his ragged breathing.

Marco stepped in and grabbed Jean. "That's enough. Fighting's no use to us." He gave Christa a small, reassuring smile. "You and Ymir stay here. There's a first aid kit tucked away in the bathroom. Jean and I will go...get some dinner for us all. I hope everyone likes Indian?"

Jean angrily pulled away from Marco, and left the apartment. Marco followed suit.

Suddenly, the whole place became silent. Christa couldn't even bother to notice the city noises that resounded outside. All she heard was her own heartbeat stuck in the cavity of her chest. She wanted to drown her feelings out. To keep herself from bursting into tears, she took the first aid kit from the bathroom, took a handtowel, grabbed a bowl of water, and went over to Ymir. She put the kit on the coffee table in front of the couch and kneeled beside her. The tall, freckled girl stopped slouching and moved forward. Without words, she understood. She put her icebag down and leaned her face towards Christa.

With her right hand Christa dipped the handtowel in the bowl, and with the left, she held the side of Ymir's face. Her skin was hot, and Christa wondered if she was running a fever. If she was, she was showing no other signs for it. Maybe it was just Ymir. Christa's hold on her was extremely gentle, and light as a feather. Ymir felt like it was an angel on her cheek.

"Hold still," whispered Christa. She carefully dabbed at Ymir's brow, removing the blood that stained her graze.

Ymir winced. "Ah! Be careful."

"Sorry, sorry." Christa wiped the blood at a slower pace. Then she went on to Ymir's cheek. She moved closer to make her hand steadier. Soft breathing filled her ears. Those piercing amber eyes were staring at her intently, Christa knew. She could feel it. She could even hear Ymir's heartbeat too.

"Christa?" Ymir's voice was surprisingly softer than it usually was.

"Mmm?"

"Don't listen to what Jean said, alright?"

Christa's throat turned sticky, she could feel barbed wires beginning to enclose around it. "W-what do you mean?"

"What he said about you-ah!"

"I'm sorry." She began wiping off the blood on her nose. "What he said was true, wasn't it?" Christa's heart clenched. "What _you _said was true. You think I can't fight."

"No, that's not what I think."

"Then why did you say-ˮ

"I didn't mean it. You _can _fight. I know you can. You haven't seen real action yet, but you can fight. I wouldn't have taken you in if I knew you were useless."

Christa avoided Ymir's stare as she finished taking away the blood that surrounded her mouth. She put the towel inside the bowl and opened the first aid kit. Her stomach churned uncomfortably – like there was a well inside, and her soul was dropping to the very bottom.

"Christa." Ymir said. When the blonde didn't respond, she took both of her arms. "I can see it in you. I just know."

Biting her lip, Christa turned back to look at Ymir. She put down the antibiotics she was holding and in her hands gripped Ymir's forearms. Tears began welling up in her eyes, and she could do naught to stop them from falling down. Every single emotion her heart built up from the moment Ymir started getting hurt by the crowd came rushing to her, piercing her heart like spears. Without even thinking, she buried her face against Ymir's chest, moving her arms to have Ymir in her tiny embrace. Ymir stared down at Christa's hair in shock, her hands awkward and unsure of what to do. She rubbed Christa's back gingerly, a wave of her own emotions coming up to greet her. It was hard to hear the sobs come from Christa, her diminutive body being absolutely shaken by tears. Ymir found herself choking up, but did her very best to stay strong.

"I-I thought, I thought," Between her sobs, Christa spoke. "I thought I was useless because I didn't help you, and I could, but you-you told me to stay in the car, and I didn't – I didn't want to disappoint you, I didn't w-want to go against what you told me to d-do.

"And-and when you came out from that mess, I thought th-that it was my fault. I didn't re-rescue you or come to you-your aid."

Ymir's husky voice broke for a second before returning to normal. "You did well, Christa. You don't have to be upset over yourself."

They stayed like that for a few more minutes, relishing each other's comfort, taking in each other's warmth. The scent of Christa's strawberry shampoo wafted inside Ymir's nose, whilst Ymir's sun-bitten, sweaty scent filled Christa's senses. Ymir's steady heartbeat calmed Christa down, and when she stopped her hiccupping, she pulled back and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

Christa beamed. She took the roll of bandages from the kit and everything else that she needed to patch Ymir up. "Sorry about that. Let's continue this before Jean and Marco come back."

The trace of a genuine smile appeared on Ymir's face as she ruffled Christa's hair. "Alright. Make me look good again."


	6. ISSUE 6 - Brother

The morning after Ymir had her face patched up by Christa, the two decided to stay awhile to help Jean and Marco settle into their dingy apartment. Though Ymir was battered severely and despite Christa's protests, she did all the heavy lifting that needed to be done. Her strained muscles and scratched knuckles adjusted the couch, tampered with the electrical wiring behind the TV, fixed the cooling system of the fridge, carried the bedroom closet out and back in to check for any mites. Marco swabbed the furniture with a feather duster that Ymir never even knew he had. Christa was in charge of counting the money Jean and Marco brought, organising their paperwork, and from time to time, wiping Ymir's forehead clean of any dripping sweat. When Ymir asked what Jean's role in all this was, Marco told her he was off to god knows where to complain about their workshop being threatened by people. No one dared to touch the atrocity that was the bathroom.

After they finished their jobs and made the apartment as clean as it could possibly be by their hand, Marco quickly popped down to Jaeger and Co.'s for a free pitcher of lemonade and three glasses. He set the tray down on the coffee table, and drooped down onto the footrest, panting lightly before grabbing his own glass of lemonade.

"I'll need to call Levi's Cleaning Services to deal with that...that bathroom."

Ymir had her limbs all over the place on the couch, her wounds still fresh on her face, but not on her expression. Christa could tell that what she had gone through was painful, and definitely wince-worthy, but Ymir showed no reflection of trauma. "I'll say. Even _I _wouldn't touch that shower drain."

"Unless...Christa?"

A squinted look of disgust crossed Christa's face. "No thank you, Marco, if that's alright."

Ymir laughed. "You're not gonna get my girl to clean some gross blockage in the shower, Bodt."

"Your girl?" smiled Marco. He took a sip.

Christa nearly spat her drink. "N-not gonna let that fool me, Ymir."

"I thought it already has."

"Ymir!"

"You two are absolutely _comic_," commented Marco, chuckling.

Ymir and Marco then proceeded to talk about how dodgy the whole apartment was, starting with Marco saying that it was completely Jean's idea to have a backup place somewhere that wasn't suspicious or flashy, so it was decided that they have a rotten old place for themselves. Christa listened intently, but halfway through the conversation, she found herself staring at Ymir. There was no particular reason why she was staring at that moment, but her stares turned into thoughts and those thoughts formed into a realisation she refused to admit to herself. The conversation went on, however, oblivious to her ponderings. When the empty pitcher and the melting ice cubes in glasses caught her eye, however, she immediately excused herself as she took the tray and disappeared into the kitchen to clean the glassware.

Quietly, Ymir grumbled a 'thank you', and gave a lingering gaze towards Christa when she left. She sensed something bothering the blonde, and for a second, her own heart missed a step.

"So, what's this huh?" asked Marco.

"What's what?" Ymir turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Come on, Ymir. Jean and I've known you long enough."

With a careful ear, Christa silently began eavesdropping on the conversation happening in the living room as she washed the pitcher.

"Okay...you two have known me long enough...obvious statement, but I don't see the point-ˮ

"You decide to mentor Christa...what...to be nice?"

"Marco, low blow from someone who's nice." Ymir gave a shaky laugh.

"You and I both know that you aren't the most charitable person."

"Jeez, lay off," growled Ymir. "I'm not just her mentor."

"What, you're her friend?"

"Ye- what's it to you, anyway?"

"Look at her. She's so full of hope. Full of promise. I'm just worried about her."

"Don't be worried. She's safe with me."

"But what if she..."

"She what?"

"What could potentially happen between you two can only end in pain."

"Marco, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I can see it in the way you look at her." Marco sighed, voice soft, almost a whisper. "Lady Killer. Heartbreaker. Has she seen your secret panty stash?"

"Fuck's sake," hissed Ymir. "I don't- I don't do that anymore!"

Though the topic could be considered obtrusive, Marco's tone never made it as such. "Just don't let her heart go to waste."

She looked away. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Christa's eyes widened as the nerves of her brain took hold of Ymir's words and began stirring it inside her subconscious. Her hands slipped for a second, one of the glasses falling into the sink with a clank. Wincing, she bit her lip, but breathed out a sigh of relief when it didn't break.

"You okay there, Christa?" Ymir called out from the living room.

"I'm f-fine!"

A pause. "I was thinking – you wanna survey Trost tomorrow? To see how things are going?"

"Y-yes! That would be a good idea! Tomorrow it is, then."

Christa took a few deep breaths and continued with her washing.

###

The day that followed was quite humid, and uncomfortably warm, but it didn't hold the harsh sun that was present two days ago. A sleepy haze had settled over Trost, now that the riots seemed to have died down. When noon chimed on the clock, Ymir and Christa started their cruise around the aforementioned dank neighbourhood. It could be imagined that, during nightfall, or through grey days, Trost would be the scariest place possible. It was in every state of unrepair. But, thankfully, during the daylight, it wasn't as menacing as it could be.

Along the more 'suburban' parts, the houses had doors of broken white shutters, flyscreens that have been scratched and knifed way too many times to be protective and reliable anymore. Roofs were baking under the sun, their colours desperately trying to cling onto the tiles. The stained front walls had chips and cracks that had come from the constant disorder and abandonment it experienced. The lawns were dry, and filled with withered yellow grass which would pierce flesh with its brittle callousness. There was the occasional resident who was sitting outside, their beady eyes following the movement of the Ferrari as it sped down the littered roads.

Ymir coolly scanned the area. "Christa? You live around here, right?"

"Yes," replied Christa, "but it's still a bit away from this area."

"Can't imagine how'd you end up here. It's a ghetto."

"There are no more sweeps around this place. The government doesn't care."

"Do you think Hyrr would hide around here?"

Christa shook her head. "Too dangerous. Too many people who want her head. A large mob could easily overwhelm her."

"That's right."

"There's always trouble around here – tavern brawls, assaults, gang fights, sexual violence – you name it. Except...the weird thing is..."

"Is what?" Ymir gave Christa a sideways glance, turning the car towards a different street.

"There are barely any robberies. As if the whole of Trost knows that robbery is a crime only made by Hyrr and robbing someone else of their possessions just makes them as low as Hyrr."

"Huh. These people are stupid then."

There was a hint of taken offence in Christa's voice. "I don't...understand."

"They fight amongst themselves aside from fighting Hyrr, and claim that robbery is the only form of stealing. Hyrr steals because she's..._selfish_," Ymir spat. "When you kill someone, you take their life. You take it from them forcibly. That's stealing. You can never give it back. You are selfish when you kill."

"I...never thought about it that way," Christa said quietly. "I'd never want to kill anybody, but-ˮ

"Then what were you planning to do when you meet Hyrr?"

"I don't..."

"Exactly."

Just as Christa was about to reply, her eyes turned into a big plates of shock. She gasped sharply and pointed through the windscreen, her eyes trained on the left side of the road. "Ymir, stop here! Please!"

Giving her attention towards the house they were about to pass, Ymir parked the car on the opposite side of the street. Hands firmly planted on the stirring wheel, with her index finger tapping the surface, she ducked her head slightly and gave the house a good look. A large RV van was roosting on the lawn, like a bulky, massive whale on a sunny beach. The small windows had their curtains only partially drawn together so you could see bits and pieces inside. A faded red stripe ran all the way along its white body. A thin, wiry antennae that Ymir doubted still worked, was perched on top of the roof.

Beside the RV was a brute of a man with a blond crew cut. His biceps and his jutting chest was emphasized by his grey shirt. Underneath his thin, creased eyebrows were vigilant, but not unkind earthly eyes. His huge form was leaning against the RV, with a can of beer held in one hand. The air this man held was not menacing, despite his figure, but somewhat oddly pleasant. Ymir couldn't figure out why.

"Who's that gym junkie over there?" asked Ymir, unbuckling her seatbelt.

Christa hurriedly unfastened hers and left the car. "Come on, you have to meet him!"

Sighing deeply, Ymir stayed in the Ferrari for at least ten seconds contemplating whether this was a good idea or not, but she eventually caved in and followed Christa towards the man. She placed her hands in her pockets and slowly walked over to them, silently watching the scene unfold with indifferent eyes.

As soon as the man saw Christa coming towards him, he leapt up from his spot against the RV, chugged his beer empty, chucked it in the bin in front of his lawn, and took the petite blonde in his blocky arms. Though one would expect that his grip would be suffocatingly tight, Ymir could actually see how soft and controlled his embrace was. His muscles were relaxed, his body was in peace, and his eyes were beaming happily at Christa. When they pulled back, Christa giggled and motioned for Ymir to come closer. The freckled brunette did as she was told, begrudgingly, her expression suspicious and untrusting.

"Ymir," smiled Christa sweetly, "this is Reiner Braun. Reiner, this is Ymir."

Reiner extended a meaty hand, his mouth curved into a smile onto his tight jaw. "So you're the one Christa's been all excited about these past few months."

Ymir returned the gesture with a strong shake. "Didn't know I was making front headlines."

"You are! Christa's told me all about you!"

"All the good _and _bad things, I hope."

There was a mocking glint in Reiner's eye. "She didn't need to tell me much to let me know who you are."

"So, what, are you two...together?"

"Reiner is like a brother to me," interjected Christa.

"That's right. I look out for Christa at all times. I _protect _her from people who smell like trouble."

Ymir crossed her arms. "I'm not sure Christa needs protecting. She can stand on her own."

From the corner of her eye, Ymir saw Reiner's fists clench tightly by his sides. "I have no doubt that she can, but I guess, sometimes she doesn't know who's a friend and who's a foe."

"Reiner-ˮ Christa touched his arm.

"You're lucky I'm neither," said Ymir through gritted teeth. "I'm only here because Christa owes me. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Somehow, I don't feel assured by that," Reiner replied.

The heated tension between the two opposing forces caused an unbreathable rift in the air. It was as if a magnetic pull was present between Reiner and Ymir, forcing them to face each other and to forget backing away. And Christa was the only barrier that was stopping them from having a nasty incident. Deep inside, Ymir felt her fire being awakened by something primal, and instinctive, an intuition which told her of this man's character and his identity.

"Christa," Ymir commanded, "get back in the car."

"No, Christa – get inside the house," said Reiner, eyes set on Ymir's every move. "Our friends are inside."

Ymir turned her attention towards Christa, completely focused on the blonde's facial expression and body language. "In the car. _Now._"

Christa's mouth was open to speak, her lips baring the faintest of trembles, her eyes gazing up at Ymir in uncertainty and hesitation, those blue orbs asking too many questions. Yet, what Ymir didn't find in her soul was distrust, even though she had every right to. Even though she was obligated to give Reiner, a familiar face, all of her belief and none of her reluctance. Even though she was supposed to completely oppose Ymir and have no doubt in Reiner's authority.

A few heartbeats passed, with no one talking and no one moving. There was nothing in the air but a barrier that needed to be broken.

Ymir's fingers twitched. Reiner's muscles flexed. Legs were thrust forward, elbows bent, heads curved towards each other. Jaws were clenched, eyes trapped on each other, eyebrows furrowed together like there was no tomorrow. In the space of a millisecond, two bodies were drawn to each other like moths to a flame – feet scuffling about on the side of the road, arms tightened and teeth bared. Ymir's slender hands took hold of Reiner's shoulders, her fingernails acting as hooks onto his skin. Reiner, surprised by the extent of Ymir's initial strength, panicked and grabbed onto Ymir's arms by instinct, his own biceps hardening in response to her force. The two became interlocked in a struggle to push each other away, but so far to no avail.

Christa lunged forward, trying to create a gap between them. Her hands took a shot at prying off Ymir's grip onto Reiner, and vice-versa, but it felt like a futile attempt. "Stop it!" She began slamming her fists onto both of them, hoping it would distract them from each other. "Stop it, you two!"

In the corner of Christa's eye, she saw two people run out of the house, their arms in a flurry as they entered the scene with exasperated and baffled expressions. "Sasha! Bert!"

Sasha, a girl with dark auburn hair, stepped behind Christa and carefully pulled her away from Ymir and Christa. "Christa! You're back!"

Christa took a glance at Sasha, but was much too focused on the fight to have a reunion. "You have to help me stop them!"

"Leave it to Bert," replied Sasha, casting a nervous look towards Ymir.

Bertholdt was tanned, had matted hair of coal, and currently towered over everyone in the vicinity. Beads of sweat rolled down his face as he did his best to haul Reiner back.

After a few more moments of restless aggressiveness, Bertholdt succeeded and Reiner, panting heavily, let the taller boy take him away from Ymir. His face had not lost its enmity, but his body at least, seemed like it was retiring from its ferociousness. Once he straightened up and steadied his breathing, Bertholdt let go and stepped back.

Ymir wiped the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve, expression back to its distant and cold manner. Christa took her arm, dragging her closer to their small, awkward circle. She forced a smile. "Ymir, this is uh- Bertholdt Hoover and Sasha Blause."

Hooded eyes scanning the two newcomers, Ymir almost jumped at the sight of Sasha. This was the very same thief she had chased out of a store not so long ago, yet it truly did feel like an eternity since it happened. "Hey, you were on TV."

Sasha rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, not for being a high-end celebrity, unfortunately."

"Did the police ever get close?"

"Ymir!" Christa stepped on her shoe.

"I'm just curious," Ymir said.

"They _almost _did," replied Sasha, "but they eventually got off my back. Figured it wasn't really worth it to come after a petty thief and her sidekick."

"Don't let Connie hear you say that," giggled Christa. "In his head, _you're _the sidekick."

"When the police catch Hyrr, that's when _I'll _be the sidekick. Honestly, they should just bring the military along too."

"Yeah. About that. Any sign of Hyrr around here?" asked Ymir.

Sasha shook her head. "She wouldn't dare come here."

"Ymir and I are trying to track her down," explained Christa. "If you guys know any leads, you have to tell us."

Ymir watched everyone's expressions carefully. Reiner was hard to read, but it could be said that he was contemplating deeply. Bertholdt seemed off about something, like he was anxious, but was doing his best to hide it. Sasha had the most open face out of everyone else.

"Of course, Christa. If it's anything to help you find Hyrr, I'm right there."

"Thank you, Sasha."

"We should get going," Ymir said, her eyes narrowed specifically towards Reiner. "Lots of detective stuff to do."

"Wait –ˮ Sasha extended a halting hand. "You haven't told us why you and Reiner were fighting."

"It wasn't a fight," said Reiner, returning Ymir's withering gaze. "It was just a misunderstanding."

"Oh, don't sugarcoat it, princess." Ymir took Christa's hand. "We were close to a fistfight then."

"And it wouldn't have made you prettier, Ymir."

"Whatever. Bye."

Ymir swivelled around, towing Christa with her. The shorter girl did a hasty wave to her friends and a rushed 'goodbye'. Once they were back inside the car, Ymir turned the engine on and began driving. Sasha, Reiner and Bertholdt waved as they went past the house and out of the street.

Ymir checked her face in the mirror and gave Christa a sly grin.

"Is my face _that _bad?"

"Don't listen to what Reiner said," replied Christa. "I think your face is great."

"Even though it looks like a warzone?"

"Even though it looks like a warzone." Christa blushed slightly, eyes widening as if she had realised what she just said. "Anyway, what was up between you two?"

"What do you mean?" Ymir gulped, hoping Christa wouldn't notice.

"There was just...something off. I don't know."

"I just think you should stop telling him to play big brother." After those words hit the air, Ymir's phone buzzed. With the left hand already on the steering wheel, she used her right to grab it out of her back pocket.

"Ymir, watch the road!" warned Christa. "Check your phone later!"

"We'll be fine!"

Rolling her eyes, Ymir sighed deeply and wondered what idiotic spam text she had gotten now. Only a very few handful of select people knew her number – just contacts who she deemed necessary in her line of work. Unlocking it, she swiped her thumb over the screen. Her eyes took a metamorphosis from being half-lidded to fully open. The breath which had been about to exit her mouth took a stay of leave instead. Hurriedly, she closed the phone and threw it onto the small compartment below the air conditioner. Countless thoughts rushed to her head as Christa's queries entered her ears and left them, the blonde's voice being overpowered by the sound of Ymir's heavy thinking.

He knew, and this was a warning.

###

[1:59] [UNKNOWN NUMBER]

I KNOW WHO YOU ARE. YOU STOLE THE FIRE.

-BRUDER


End file.
